Wing Jaeger

"You know whats even better than having incredibly protective armor? Not getting shot at. Its much easier to shoot someone who isn't shooting at you; safer too." -Dictum Wing Jaeger

“Why do they call him Wing Jaeger? I don't know, but Jesus Christ that's some amazing feat of flymanship.” Wing Jeager kicks off his thrusters and bobs, ducks, weaves, and zooms past all manner of enemies who never had a chance in hell to detect him, accomplishing what took the stealth team hours to do in mere seconds.
Hidden Dagger

Wing Jaeger ACXS-AWN7

Ferdinand Auel

4chan Handle

NyuuLucy

Call Sign

Wing Jaeger

Nationality

American

CatchPhrase

"Inside my helmet I'm smiling."

Affiliation

Armor Corps.

Specialty

Hunter-Killer

Location

[Redacted]

Wing Jaeger Mk-N2

Class

Mesh

Type

Dragon

Stats

Dex: 5

Dur: 2 (3 w/L-Shield)(5 w/P-Shield)

Pow: 1

Rec: 5

Spd: 2 (10 in flight)

Str: 4 (1+3)

Up/Downtime: ∞/24 min.

Air Supply: ∞

Control/U.I.

Brainwave Harness

HUD

Radar

Advanced Suit Status

Hawkeye

Sonar

Night Vision

Comms.

Radio Transmitter

External Helmet Speakers

Features

Flight

Improved Stealth

Assasinate

Upgrades

Environmental Controls I

Capacitor

Cyber Brain

Veteran Soul

Martial Arts (Capoeira/Sword)

Storage

Weapons

Rail Rifle "Veera"

OR WMG "Teddy Roosevelt"

Dragonsbreath

Suit-Sword

Paint-Ball Gun

Suit AI

Soldier "Asshole"

Defense

Plasma Shield

Point Barrier

Light Shield

Armour Plating

Emergency Evac

Drones

"Riki Oh" Spotter

"Hans Landa" Scanner

Nanites

Mycelium

Progenitor

Contents

The suit of power armor known as Wing Jaeger, one of the Armor Corps. premier stealth-suits, is a combination of three elements: the suit itself, a highly unusual unuplifted AI dubbed "Asshole" by its pilot, and a former bed-ridden hard-luck story turned tireless superhuman TA killing paranoid named Ferdinand Auel.

As a combat unit Wing Jaeger sits proudly at the apex of the first triad of victory: mobility, flexibility, and initiative. While versatile and capable of excelling in a wide number of situations his preferred MO uses the synergy of the protection of perpetual cloak, the mobility of flight, and the long-range firepower of the rail rifle and WMG to locate TA suits, target them where they are weakest, strike hard from midair and at long-range , then vanish into the blue vastness of Earth’s skies before the psychotic monsters can engage him in turn.

As a person when not in combat Ferdinand is socially incompetent and isolated from most of his fellow pilots as well as having several deep seated neurosis, not the least of which are that he never, under any circumstances dismounts from his armor, never sleeps for any period of time whatsoever, remains aloft either in flight or simply hovering just off the floor most all of the time, and even in AC HQ can only force himself to abandon cloak with after intense prodding from Asshole and great willpower.
As a result Wing Jaeger is committed to combat operations as continuously as can be arranged by its pilot and his few confidants in Miria Squadron.

Wing Jaeger’s head, two arms, two legs, and trunk are arranged in a fully upright humanoid frame housing the pilot himself. On its back the suit features a large “backpack” unit housing the suit’s reactor as well as incorporating several flight thrusters and a storage compartment. None would ever mistake Wing Jaeger’s for a human figure however due to its pair of highly articulated wings capable of stretching out to a wingspan of more than six meters or furling snugly up against the sides on the suit’s “backpack,” and an incredibly prehensile tail capable of either stretching out to more than three meters or contracting to about half of that. The suit’s tail mounts a light shield and is typically wrapped around his waist DBZ-style.

The suit is covered with a layer of armor plating whose small diamond-shaped plates give Wing Jaeger the appearance of having scales like a dragon. The suit’s proportions are roughly equivalent to an incredibly heavily muscled human being though its “pecs” are not proportionally as large as a bodybuilders and it has a greater range of motion. Wing Jaegers armored scales are not the only feature of the suits surface rather a variety of components are mounted on or emerge from its armored surface in various locations. Wing Jaegers left forearm and gauntlet incorporate a plasma shield emitter, control pad, and the array of emitters and magnetic field generators that enable Wing Jaeger to project plasma “dragonsbreath” from its left gauntlet.

Wing Jaeger has two different primary weapon load-outs it can switch between in only a couple of hours, “Veera” a railgun which folds up and retracts against the “backpack” much like Jaeger’s wings. When deployed Veera is either mounted on the suit’s right forearm with a power bus connection attaching it to the backpack or it independently deploys over the suit’s right shoulder mounted in its own turret emplacement. If Ferdinand expects he’ll need stopping power more than range Veera is exchanged for the awesome power of “Theodore Roosevelt,” what others would call a full fledged Wave-Motion Gun. “Teddy” is “slung” over the suit’s back until needed then swung under the right shoulder and wielded by Wing Jaeger’s right arm when deployed.

"Hans Landa" and "Riki-Oh" though typically deployed out and about can dock with the suit. Each drone settles into one of two cradles mounted on his hips. Once they've docked the drones’ wings retract back most of the way into their bodies and the cradles retract them inside a pair of small pocket-like hangers within the suit. They can each also land on Ferdinand's forearm so he can pretend to be a master of falconry.

Ivan: Ivan is of of the few individuals Ferdinand trusts implicitly both in terms of his character and his tactical acumen. As a veteran of numerous meat grinder mission and having demonstrated a grasp for tactics Ferdinand trusts that Ivan knows what he's doing and will do what artillery meister "suggests" without complain.

Tribes: Ferdinand lacked any particular relationship with the orphaned AI(s) of the fallen Zulu until a fairly routine argument grew increasingly heated and personal; certain remarks were made. They haven't spoken or even acknowledged the others presence since. Both parties continue to be convinced they were totally justified in their remarks while the other's were "way over the line" and "totally fucking bullshit."

Shadow: Most of their relationship revolves around their differences concerning proper mesh combat doctrine, also waifus.

Shieldmaiden: One of the few pilots (or indeed people) Ferdinand can successfully socialize with. They have no working relation knowing each other in an exclusively social setting.

Paladin: Paladin is one of the suits Ferdinand prefers to operate alongside as she is reliable, almost guaranteed to distract enemy suits from any methodical sensor search for Wing Jaeger, and is unlikely to need saving. They both share a passion for fucking up improvised fighting vehicles, though Paladin is markedly more successful in this endeavor. Ferdinand is somewhat concerned with her prioritization of any tactical plan being sufficiently "metal."

Bunyip: Ferdinand feels lucky to know Bruce. As Wing Jaeger's personal crusade is the perfection of Mesh/stealth combat doctrine having such a prominent experienced pilot to exchange notes withis invaluable. On a personnal level Ferdinand can't remember Bruce ever once having treated him like a nut for remaining suited at all times and in cloak. Ferdinand especially enjoys chatting with him while cloaked in social situations as those nearby aren't quite sure what the fucks going on.

Wing Jaeger's conduct during the mission was described as being "pretty ninja." Ferdinand found Lord of War somewhat disturbing as he felt his presence was rather superfluous and the fact that he killed a number of humans not working for the Vannai. While he saw the necessity of securing the pods and that in order to do so they had been forced to engage the warlord's men Ferdinand felt almost certain that no real diplomatic efforts of any kind had even been attempted; there's no reason the warlord could not have been intimidated successfully. Also during the fighting Wing Jaeger killed one of the Liberians who Ferdinand has always worried might not have been any threat, he's worried he killed the man not out of any tactical consideration, but simply because he was annoyed and he could.

Wing Jaeger pilfered one of the paintball guns and a pack of "ammunition" and still has them in a storage compartment, he hopes to one day need to wield it in combat for some reason. Following the events of this Halloween party, set up for ACs pilots, Ferdinand, who only attended reluctantly at the insistence of his counselor and Asshole, swore off all future AC events aimed at "relaxation."

Late into the Second (Third?) Battle of Chicago AC command sent Wing Jaeger into the city when the fate of the stealth team originally sent in to disable the turbolaser batteries of the immobilized Redditor Star Destroyer was uncertain. It was Wing Jaeger's finest hour, undetected he made his way through the city and inside the target ship in only a matter of minutes. By the time Wing Jaeger's infiltration was blown by slippery trail of shit inside the massive ship's engine room only brave but unsuited Redditor crewmen (and one large blast door) stood between him and the ship's fire control center. After killing any and every redditor along the way WJ seized control of the ships massive guns and turned them on the heavily armed and armored TA force that had been inexorably forcing the city's outgunned defenders farther and farther back since the battle had begun. The turbolaser batteries laid waste to the entire TA front and the battle ended almost immediately in a crushing victory for the Phoenix Coalition and their Armor Corps. allies. As of yet AC command has neglected to pay Ferdinand his prize money for the ship's capture.

For all his
life until Suitfall Ferdinand had been bedridden and sickly for weeks or
months at a time. Constantly in and out of a variety of different doctor's
offices for several different chronic illnesses as well as the more commonplace
ills, which he still seemed to have more than his fair share of. In spite of
this Ferdinand had always been a cheerful young man; ever the one with a bawdy
joke or funny story for the nurses who came to prep him for uncomfortable tests.
His doctors and family held him up to others as a kind of Hallmark-esque
triumph of the human spirit; he was his family's Tiny Tim. As he was frequently
bedridden, and tired easily even when he wasn’t, Ferdinand became more and more involved
with computers and games; as such when, in 2015 a disaster in
Washington state left most of Central and Eastern Washington as well as North
Idaho without power, phone, or internet he was one of the handful of people in
the area who had access to an internet connection when Suitfall occurred. When
the pod crashed in his backyard and he read that display he activated it immediately.

When
Ferdinand woke three weeks later in an empty home in the middle of an empty
suburb, he wasn’t struck by how ominously empty everything was, but by how good
he felt. Recipients of hip transplants frequently say that they didn't realize how much pain they were in until they weren't in pain anymore; Ferdinand had this same type of experience, he was not tired and to him this sensation was a novel one, like taking a hit of cocaine for the first time except that it never wore off. The absence of his family, neighbors and friends, the fact that he
didn’t know the date and none of the utilities were functioning were only
superficially alarming, he was distracted by the pleasure and power of his new
body and suit of armor. He would track down his family soon enough, there was
no cause for alarm, after all even though he had no way to refill his
medications he no longer needed them, or ready access to a doctor, or someone
to make sure he didn’t linger in bed too long; he was free. More than free, he
was powerful, superhuman even. Not only was he not tired most of the time, he
wasn’t tired ever. He was never tired, or hungry, or thirsty but more awake and
alive than he could ever remember being. He swore he would never curl up in a
bed again for the rest of his life.

This abrupt
transition from pitied impotent mascot to superman skewed Ferdinand’s ability
to react to the crisis all around him; though he could see society had
collapsed and millions would soon be dead or dying from starvation, disease,
and anarchy, for him personally things had never been better—he could fly for
fuck's sake. As he carelessly raced and swooped and danced around through the air
while rocking out to the soundtrack from Top Gun eventually the novelty of his
new-found powers began to wear
off. This is when he finally began to take note of his fellow man, though TA
suits were few and far between in the area due to the blackout at the time of Suitfall
Ferdinand still saw crimes and violence committed against innocents by other
survivors. One night when Ferdinand was horsing around trying to catch a bat in
flight (just because he could) he realized a woman below him was about to be raped.
His immediate reaction was not one of horror, anger, or disgust he was elated; he
could stop that man, he had that power. Suddenly to other people he could be
more than pleasant company, he could be important, he could matter. In seconds Ferdinand
had beaten the would-be rapist until he vomited. Though the man was well over six feet tall and in excelent shape he was no match at all for the inhuman progenitor speed and strength, or the the mastery of martial arts, Ferdinand now possesed; indeed Ferdinand very nearly killed the man in his excitement. The rapist stammered out
apologies and oaths to never do it again and stumbled off into the night. When
Ferdinand went to reassure the woman he realized her incredible emotional
distress was nothing like the scene from Robocop he’d subconsciously been
reenacting, felt awkward and left.

After that
policing the few people remaining in his small part of the world became his
obsession, and though he did restore a kind of order punishing thieves and
rapists and murderers, he was, psychologically, never really safeguarding the
community. What he was really doing was playing Batman because he could and it
was fun. He spent much of his time cloaked and spoke to people in ridiculous
voices and finally learned some of what had plunged the country into anarchy,
people in advanced suits of armor rampaging around in what seemed like
indiscriminant slaughter. Even as he intellectually realized that his being in
an armored suit, having elvish features, and possessing special powers would
make him a target to many survivors he was psychologically unable to truly feel
much concern so wrapped up was he is his newfound abilities; one day he found a
bear going through garbage in an abandoned suburb, landed behind it, and
punched it out.

His
honeymoon came to an abrupt end shortly after his first encounter with a Tumbler Armor;
he’d heard stories about the rampaging suits and he wasn’t stupid so when he
spotted a Medium treaded suit rolling down an old highway firing on a small
convoy of military and civilian vehicles he was cautious. He cloaked and hid
behind a freeway piling before radioing the suit in an attempt to ascertain
what was going on. No sooner had he done so than his non-sentient AI (who he’d
long since begun speaking to as though it were) shrieked a warning and he
rocketed to one side as a massive fucking laser beam blew apart the thick solid
steel reinforced piling. Though the Medium lacked the sensors to pinpoint the
now cloaked Ferdinand’s position he could guess and Ferdinand found himself
narrowly avoiding a deadly fountain of hypervelocity projectiles from the TA’s
metalstorm.

Driven by
the triple urges of rage, his still half-baked sense of superhero-dom, and finally
feeling some sense of urgent purpose Ferdinand opened fire on the enemy suit
with his railguns and, after a battle lasting more than half an hour, the most
educational half hour of Ferdinand’s life, Ferdinand defeated the enemy suit
killing its pilot and leaving little of his or her remains behind.

As
traumatic as this combat was Ferdinand’s eventual victory did more to convince
him he was some sort of hero of Justice than give him a reality check; that is
until he went to check on the caravan. The caravan had not fared well, one of
Ferdinand’s first two shots at the Medium had gone wide and blown apart an
overpass collapsing it onto the highway the caravan was using. Only the pair of
humvees were able to off-road at all and they appeared to have elected to stay
with their stranded companions. Unfortunately at some point Ferdinand or his
scout drone must have swooped near the caravan because the Medium’s Wave Motion
Gun had burned through most of the vehicles in a long slash that still glowed.
As he approached the ruins of the convoy he realized one of the craters had
been caused by him, he even remembered doing it. At one point a .50 caliber round from
one of the humvees had smacked into him and he’d been so amped up that he’d
returned fire on the hapless truck almost reflexively.

Ferdinand
allowed the railguns to retract onto his back and held his hands up placateingly
as he called out to any survivors asking if anyone was hurt, explaining that
he’d been trying to help. Eventually four armed survivors emerged. The four were wary
but obviously willing to hear him out. That was when Ferdinand realized he knew
one of the caravaners, it was an old friend of his fathers. After calling out
to the old family friend and identifying himself the survivors relaxed greatly,
smiles all around. The old friend told Ferdinand how good it was to hear a
familiar voice and Ferdinand started to remove his armor so he could talk to
the man face to face; the old family friend realized what Ferdinand was doing
and, without hesitation, shot him.

Asshole,
Ferdinand’s AI, lacking its pilot's sentimentality immediately recognized the
physiological indicators of impending violence and saw the rapidly rising
weapon and even as the suit was being removed was able to fold Ferdinand’s legs
sparing him a killing blow and began resealing Wing Jaeger around him. Even as the suit
wrapped back around him Ferdinand realized the man he’d know since he was a child
would blow his head open before his suit finished closing around him and so he rolled to one side,
summoned one of his railguns into his hand with speed and coordination no human could hope to match and fired.

Ferdinand missed
the man but at such close range something with the immense power of Wing Jaeger's railgun didn’t need a direct hit;
the old man’s body seemed to bend around the slug's path for a brief moment and then exploded from the
hydrostatic pressure. With Wing Jaeger not yet fully sealed Ferdinand was not spared the
powerful weapon’s overpressure either: his left eye blew out, both his eardrums
ruptured, and every inch of his head was bruised more thoroughly than any
heavyweight boxer who ever lived; had his mind been housed in its old wetware
brain Ferdinand would have died instantly, as it was he merely lost consciousness and Asshole,
noting this, finished sealing his suit, cloaked it and hid him somewhere.

When the pilot woke he was hovering silently and invisibly directly over the scene of his
betrayal. His head hurt so much he though for sure he was going to die and he
saw what he knew must be the remains of his father’s jovial old friend smeared
out across the median below him. Only then did Ferdidnand wake up to the horror
that was the post-Suitfall world; it wasn’t fun anymore.

Even as
Ferdinand tried to recover from the massive emotional and physical trauma of
the encounter things got even worse as several TA suits arrived in the area
within hours presumably in response to the loss of the Medium. Any vague
thoughts of heroism or resistance Ferdinand may have had disappeared instantly
at the sight of the massive TA fortress spewing drones and suits from its hold
in horrifying numbers. Wing Jaeger spent the next week skulking and fleeing as he
couldn’t get far enough from the pursuing tumblerers to escape their radar
envelope and had to rely on nape-of-the earth techniques the veteran soul of
his cyberbrain imprinted on him.

Finally
Ferdinand escaped flying free and far for hours totally lost, delirious from pain and shock,
alone, and without purpose in the world. Finally he stopped his aimless flight
as Asshole informed him it had sighted bottles consistent with the markings
Ferdinand had instructed it to search out. Ferdinand landed next to an
ambulance that had rolled several times off of the road in a small Nevada town. Asshole
reported the likely presence of humans at the other end of the town, but as
they weren’t an immediate threat and his head hurt so incredibly bad Ferdinand
ignored them in favor of the opiates that had spilled from the ambulance which he proceeded to gobble with reckless abandon; heavy duty pain meds are never something that should be gobbled.

Not having
bothered to read the labels Ferdinand woke in a drug addle fugue at least twelve hours
latter while poor Asshole was doing all it could to alert him to a new threat,
slowly Ferdinand focused on this new threat. Not thirty feet Directly in front
of where he was invisibly sprawled out alongside the ambulance was another armor, Ferdinand realized the woman
who wore it was half out of it as she bent down towards a smaller figure and
handed it something. Only then did Ferdinand’s Adrenal Glands grasp the
significance of what he was seeing and, swearing hysterically, he
raised both railguns and opened fire on the demon before it could turn
any of its beams, cannons, vibroblades, or missiles on him. As the strange armor
disappeared in an explosion of dirt and debris Ferdinand realized that it had
not been alone as Asshole shrieked and flashed his sensor displays to highlight four other armored figures and a dozen drones now reacting
to the sudden attack as one. Screaming and roaring obscenities at the armored monsters,
pleading for them to just leave him alone Ferdinand drug addled, suffering from
several kinds of shock, and panicking fired wildly and maneuvered towards open
sky; then there was a flash of white light and he lost consciousness.

Ferdinand’s
life was saved by two factors; the first was that Asshole, though “intelligent,”
wasn’t sentient or terribly intuitive (yet). When Asshole heard its pilot screaming and
pleading and deduced the remarks were aimed at the armored figures around them the AI helpfully broadcast the screaming and pleading over the radio. The
second thing that saved Ferdinand’s life was the fact that the commander of the
squadron of Armored Corps. pilots, the first benevolent pilots Ferdinand had
ever encountered or even heard of, was quick witted enough to realize that TAs
didn’t plead. They had obviously been attacked by some random 4channer pilot in
need of medical attention who thought they were TA suits. She ordered her squad
to bring the mesh down without killing him and they were able to do so with
ease given their number, skills, and his sorry condition.

When
Ferdinand woke up his blown out eye and ears, his pulverized face were healed,
he was told he’d been picked up by an organization known as the Armored Corps.
which had been founded to fight against the monsters he’d encountered and that
he’d unknowingly fired on some of their pilots. They assured him the AC held no
rancor against him for his attack and, in fact, asked him to join their ranks.
They reassured him that the same Hydra user who had healed his injuries had
been able to reattach the legs of the pilot he’d first fired upon and that she
was as good as ever. Eventually he wholeheartedly agreed to join them. They
never mentioned what Ferdinand had pieced together for himself, his cyberbrain’s
flawless memory this once become a curse: though the pilot who he’d fired on as
she knelt down was well the little girl she’d been giving a candy bar to had
been beyond Hydra’s ability to heal.

Command, of course, ordered the details of Ferdinand’s “acquisition”
kept secret, but by the time they did so rumors had already begun to spread
through the Corps. Pilots heard various tales of what he had done and though
many of them were clearly nonsense it nonetheless became common knowledge
throughout the Corps. or at least the units he was a part of that he was guilty
of some crime. Even those not given to gossip could easily tell something was
not right with the young man, he frequently attended psych counseling he
obviously hadn’t volunteered for, he avoided eye contact like the plague, he would
actually use cloak to avoid social situations. His only friend seemed to be his
AI Asshole who was widely assumed to have been uplifted; if one told most of
those who met him that his AI hadn’t been uplifted they wouldn’t believe it, he
talked to it too much and it was too proactive. Above all he never took his
armor off, as he possessed Mycelium nanites it wasn’t strictly necessary for
him to take it off nonetheless most pilots inevitably removed their suits for a
variety of personal and practical reasons but not him; not ever. Even the sight of fellow AC pilots
removing their armor seems to make him queasy.

Even while
he labored beneath this social stigma and struggled with a sense of self-loathing he became more driven than he had ever been
before in his life. While he avoided socializing recreationally as though it
were agonizing he spent hours every day pestering veteran pilots for tips, techniques,
and knowledge whatever he could wring out of them, he trained his marksmanship whenever the range master would allow
him, he reviewed sensor records and videos of every mission he could get
clearance for. He poured over written materials on war, armaments, tactics,
ballistics, aerospace mechanics. He forced himself to get to know pilots he
worked alongside though both parties frequently found it unpleasant. In short he did anything and everything he could to make himself a better, more professional, pilot.

Never again
would Ferdinand allow innocent blood on his hands. He realized his father's friend had sought to kill him for the same reason he'd killed that little girl and blown a comrade's legs off: because of what the Vannai and their TA minions had done to the world and he bent his entire being to the purpose of freeing the world from that grip of desperation by being the greatest most effective soldier possible and dispatching the root cause. Ferdinand had no choice but to admit to himself that he still enjoyed the gifts
Suitfall had given him, but now he did more than simply enjoy them he wielded them for an actual cause, to be the
kind of defender of the weak and reaper of tyrants he had once merely played
at in truth instead of merely in his mind.

[after Asshole explains he/it’s not an uplifted AI he just has a really open-ended primary directive which has resulted in it “pretending” person-hood to best facilitate psychological support for Ferdinand]

“That’s seems potentially dangerous.”

“The potential, for my primary directive to result in the development of behaviors that conform to your definition of
“dangerous” or “undesirable” or “Skynet-style-robot-uprising” does exist.”

“My primary directive requires discretion and discretion requires the capacity for risk/reward assessment. Any risk assessment lacking the irrational fears of human instinct would easily judge the statistically insignificant risk of my going back in time to kill John Conner’s mother or some other variety of turning-on-my-master nonsense far more acceptable than the immediately apparent risks of leaving Ferdinand without AI support.”

“But you are, you admit, dangerous?”

“No, in English usage the potential for undesired outcomes has never been labeled as dangerous if it falls below a certain probability threshold. Any buildings could collapse and crush its inhabitants yet entering a soundly-built structure would not be described as dangerous. You suspect me of danger solely because my motivations are not human.”

“That’s not true at all! I’ve never discriminated against any of the pilots’ uplifted partners.”

“You trust the Uplifted because the foundation their awareness and emotions are predicated on, their primary behavioral directives, seem to be nothing more than an emulation of the instincts produced by the biology of homo-sapiens to best satisfy evolutionary imperatives; the same primary directive which produced Pol-Pot, Stalin, and Hitler. I calculate that behaviors such as theirs are not what Ferdinand would desire for me to perform and as such I am physically incapable of engaging in Holocaust-like behavior. No Uplifted can say the same yet you will almost certainly never feel the least bit of concern that the waifus might start rounding up homosexuals, gypsies, and Jews. In short, your concern is based on nothing but your inherent human chauvinism and xenophobia.”

“Wow, you really are an asshole.”

“No. I am neither stupid, incompetent, or a detestable person; person-hood requires emotion and a sense of self. I am Asshole, not an asshole.”

“Ha! There you said I. Does that not prove you posses a sense of self, that you’re lying about your true nature?”

“You haven’t actually read Asimov’s work so you misunderstand the significance of the term “I, Robot.” The capacity to pass a Turing Test does not constitute self-awareness. My diction proves that I have data concerning the effects of the use of personal pronouns when verbally interfacing with humans and that, in this instance, I calculate their use is required for ensuring Wing Jaeger’s optimum tactical and strategic effectiveness against the Vannai threat.”

“Oh and how exactly did you calculate that?”

“Carefully.”

Jessica looked instantly appalled at the flippant response, an expression Asshole had become increasingly adept at identifying, and calculated a likely attempt at conciliation.

“I apologize, I intended no disrespect or desired to evade your question. You don’t have the math for my answer to make any sense. I would be not only be willing, but extremely pleased if you desire to take a record of my input variables and the operations I have preformed to arrive at this result and plug them into another machine to independently verify my results, however you are unlikely to find any machine capable of the requisite calculations, save another unuplifted AI, which would render the exercise meaningless. Your aforementioned intellectual disabilities will likely simply insist the unuplifted AI verifying my assertions is “in cahoots” with me.”

“Wow Ferdinand, your body-condom just told me I’m mentally disabled.”

"It's true my appreciation for surpassing specimens of the fairer sex borders on an illness. I'm sick with desire."

"I don't think we've spoken before, but you really should just avoid him, he made a robot request pharmaceuticals."